


Cut the Cord

by Alithea



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/pseuds/Alithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After knee surgery Catherine tries to decide what she is going to do next. Post Endless Waltz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut the Cord

The television clicked off in a way that seemed to echo Catherine Bloom's irritation. She shut her eyes and shifted as much as she was able in the hospital bed and then grunted in pain. She huffed and banged her head into her pillow a few times, and then, looking at her immobile left leg as the traitor it was, she relaxed, and made a reluctant tap on the button for the morphine.

There was no immediate effect which meant she had probably hit the button already within the hour. It was for the best. The last thing she needed was an addiction to pain medication, and she really only hit the button because the morphine made her sleepy. Sleep was better than the boredom of the hospital room.

She turned her head and looked over the small stack of movies Trowa had left for her. Then she looked over at the television that was mounted on the wall and the tiny player attached to it that was far from her actual reach. The movies would have been a decent distraction, except that Catherine was finding her stubborn streak hitting her hard, and she didn't want to have to call in a nurse to put a movie on. She shut her eyes again and wondered if she could drift off to sleep.

 _There was also the book_ , she mused as the sounds of the equipment in the room politely buzzed. The book was an antique and rare, because the publisher had made the mistake of publishing the original novel with nothing but blank pages in the last chapter. Oddly enough, the novel, which Catherine had probably read about fifty times already, was better without the intended ending. It made more sense. It left wiggle room in the imagination. It was a happy accident.

She opened her eyes when someone entered the room. It was one of the nurses to check on her vitals. With a heave of apologies Catherine swallowed her pride and asked the nurse if she could kindly put a movie into the player. The nurse complied without a hint of complaint, though she did seem to question the selection. Catherine thanked her and then kept her gaze on the television. No one understood her taste in movies, especially the movies from the early earth era, but in Catherine's mind all the good plots had been used up back then, all the newer films and remakes were just shadows of a more creative time.

As she watched the cattle-call in the first scene her knee twitched, not in pain, but a muscle spasm, memory perhaps. She took a deep breath and then rubbed the cast. This would make five operations in total she had undergone for that leg, the third for her knee. It was altogether depressing, not because she was falling apart, or because it might not work, but because Trowa was so insistent upon her trying. He wanted her to try just one last time, and it was either because he wasn't ready to perform in the circus without her, or it was a type of revenge for all the times she had prodded him into giving something one last go. Maybe it was a competitive sibling thing. She smirked at the thought.

"And how does it feel today," a female voice called from the doorway.

Catherine looked over and grimaced at the doctor. She shrugged.

"Try again, in words please," the doctor said.

"It hurts," Catherine stated.

The doctor raised and eyebrow.

"And I get muscle spasms. Those don’t hurt. They just happen, and take me by surprise."

"Better," the doctor said. "This is a new technology, but that sounds about normal."

"Right."

"And how are you feeling otherwise?"

"Fine. Look, Dr. Winner, I don't-"

Dr. Winner looked over at the television and grinned. She took a seat next to Catherine and said, "Catherine-"

"Cathy."

"Cathy," Dr. Winner corrected, brushing her short blonde hair behind her ears. "I know we've been over the statistics of this operation. The nano-machines might not heal you completely."

Catherine nodded. "He doesn’t know I've already made up my mind," she said softly. "But he won’t listen. Is Quatre like that?"

The doctor nodded. "I don’t know Quatre as well as you know your brother, Cathy. You need to tell him though. At any rate we'll discover how well this operation went by the end of the week." She stood up and then said, "In my experience the body will heal with medicine, but it always makes a huge difference that the patient wants to heal as well."

Catherine bit her bottom lip and then chuckled mirthlessly. "I grew up in the circus," she said. "It's never about not wanting to carry on and get back up. It's always about knowing when, despite the desire, it's time to leave the stage." She shut her eyes and then whispered, "It’s time for me to leave that stage."

Dr. Winner nodded. "I'll see you again tomorrow. Can I make a recommendation?"

"Sure," Catherine said with a sigh.

"Let your brother see this side of you once in a while and he might understand when you decide to call things quit."

 

*****

 

Physical therapy was something Catherine had been through numerous times. It always went the same way for her. She worked as hard as she was allowed without injuring herself further, and she always cried in frustration when pain or physical limitations impeded her progress. But Catherine was a flyer. She might have walked across a tightrope or done a triple summersault well before she ever learned to crawl on the ground.

Trowa stood against the back wall with his arms over his chest as he watched Catherine try a particular exercise that was giving her trouble. She had just pounded her fist into the floor, and just about socked the physical therapist in the jaw before stopping herself and sobbing instead, trading one emotional overreaction for another.

A muscle along his jaw twitched and he stepped over to her, crouching down to place his hand on her shoulder. "Cathy… you can stop for the day."

She nodded. "I can, but I still have fifteen bloody more minutes and I'm not quitting."

"Cathy-"

"Trowa, it didn't work. I know it didn’t work, but I will be damned if I can’t at least do a decent two-step." She shut her eyes and then opened them again when she felt him stand up. "Right," she whispered, "Let's try this again."

 

****

 

Hilde had many things going for her, cooking was not one of those things. Catherine looked at the bowl of instant macaroni and cheese and grimaced.

"It's awful, right," Hilde said and then smiled. "Thankfully, Trowa isn't marrying me for my cooking. He makes a decent spaghetti."

Catherine nodded and took another bite of the food that was given to her. After another rough day of physical therapy Trowa had resolutely forbidden her from cooking. It was killing her. There was a bunch of beets and a turnip that were in desperate need of preparation. She hated that they might have to be thrown out.

She looked over at Hilde who was watching her expectantly.

She almost understood what Trowa saw in the young woman, almost. It was an odd coupling formed out of a disastrous attempt at a set up by her brother because he thought she and Hilde's business partner would get along famously. They got along, but that was about the extent of the attraction.

Duo was all focused chaotic energy, and though Catherine could be lively she had a hard time keeping pace, and then there was the polite conversation she had to have with Trowa about her preferences. His reaction to the revelation was a raised eyebrow, and then nonplussed acceptance, followed by a curious, "Why didn't you ever say so before?"

"So," Hilde said sitting down with her own bowl of over cooked noodles and processed cheese. "Trowa says you are retiring."

"I am."

"You're only…what? Thirty-six?"

"Thirty-eight." Catherine stated.

"Trowa says he might look for a new partner but… It just seems weird. What are you going to do instead?"

Catherine shrugged. "I might possibly stay on and manage the business end of things. I could always be the new ringmaster." She chuckled and then said, "Maybe I'll just take up bartending instead."

Hilde nodded. "I can sort of see that, maybe. No drunk drivers on your watch."

"Absolutely not. The big sister in me wouldn’t allow it."

"Speaking of which…" Hilde took a deep breath and then said, "You never gave me an answer."

She shut her eyes and then nodded, chuckling. "I'll do it."

 

****

Catherine frowned and pulled the pendant out from the bottom of the large steamer trunk she had used when she traveled with the circus. It was an oddly shaped heart with a star engraved into it. Her brow furrowed and she clutched it tightly in her palm. She hadn’t thought it survived the war. In fact she was fairly certain after OZ nearly wiped out the colony she was on at the time that it had been stolen. She opened her palm and looked at it again.

She sighed.

It never left her.

She stood up, and with a lingering minor limp walked over to her dresser to search for a spare chain, and then put it on. She thumbed the pendant and looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn't sure what to do with herself. Everything was done. The circus was on hiatus. Her brother was married. She was retired, and had a new completely stationary residence. Everything seemed in its place, except for her.

Grabbing her purse she left the house and strode at a leisurely pace to the small café on the corner. She took a seat at a table and ordered a drink. The she pulled an antique book from her bag. She thumbed through the pages of the vacant last chapter, and then she shut it softly.

"Some stories have no ending," she said.

End.


End file.
